


Tear down the walls

by Banashee



Series: Tear Down The Walls (IronHawk Verse) [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Days, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Processing Trauma, Team as Family, a very long one tho, the team helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 06:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: The aftermath of a mission gone wrong leaves Clint in a downward spiral.(...)“That mission was a fuckup from start to finish. We lost two agents. The civilians we were supposed to get out... They killed them all. Even the kids, they just... Fuck. They hurt them and sold them for years, and then they just murdered them as soon as our team showed up.”Clint's narrative is chopped, and he sounds utterly defeated when he tells Tony about it, whatever isn't classified. When he's finished, his vision is blurry again, and all he want's to do is go back to sleep, except there are the nightmares waiting.(...)





	Tear down the walls

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> thank you for clicking!  
> Before you read, just a few things. If you did not read part one of this series, "Make it a home" yet, I'd recommend you do. While most parts can be read on it's own, for this one it will be mich easier to follow if you know that story.
> 
> Then, please proceed with caution or click away if any of these things are triggers for you:
> 
> \- descriptions of Blood and violence  
> \- descriptions of PTSD and panic attacks  
> \- implied rape/non-con (not very graphic or for long, also not between the main characters)  
> \- mentions of human trafficking
> 
> \- if there is anything else you would like me to tag, please let me know!

**Tear down the walls**

 

As soon as the elevator doors close behind him, Clint slumps back onto the metal wall with a deep sigh and closes his eyes in exhaustion. He's home. Finally.

This OP was a gruesome one, and all he wants to do is shower to wash off the blood, grime and memories, then go to bed and curl up in there with Tony.

Reminding himself to breathe, he gets startled out of his thoughts by JARVIS who gently lets him know they arrived on his floor, but he's lost in his thoughts and flinches a bit, anyway.

Feet shuffling and his duffel bag dragging over the floor, he makes his way to the bedroom to drop off his dirty clothes and it takes him so, so long, that when he finally stands in the steaming spray of water, it feels like a relief.

Working out the knots from his back, washing away the dried up blood, he has a hard time not to think too much about the last few days. The things he's seen haunt him, and he'd prefer to not deal with that right now. So when he's done, Clint goes right to bed, burrowing in the pillows.

 

He did not put his hearing aids back in, left them on the nightstand, but he does feel the bed dip a little bit with the weight of another person. He does not flinch away from the sudden touch. A hand is gently cradling through his damp hair, blunt nails scratching lightly and he turns a bit, so his face lands in a soft cotton shirt. The familiar blue light of the ARC reactor illuminates the room a little bit, and he wraps both arms around Tony, who holds him close, one hand still in his hair, the other arm wrapped around him. He must be talking to him, because he can feel the vibrations in his chest but Clint is too tired to talk, so he just shakes his head and clings on. Tony let's him, and stays close for the rest of the night.

 

 

Clint doesn't get much rest. He's fidgeting and turning, muttering in his sleep and startling awake every now and then with a gasp or strangled shout. The memories and images from this mission are burned into his brain, and they leave him shaking.

A warehouse full of blood. Dead, empty eyes, Agents and civilians alike. Their lifeless stares seem to be focused on him, almost accusatory and asking, “Why didn't you do more?” , “You were too late to save us.”.

There are tiny, childish hand prints in on the wall, with blood that has not yet dried off completely. The kids eyes are huge and just as dead, only one question in them. “Why?”

They'd never hear an answer.

At the very least, the bastards who did this are dead now.

 

Clint is breathing heavily and ragged into his hands with his eyes screwed shut. He can't hear himself, trying to be quiet really hard out of sheer habit, but it doesn't seem to be very successful. He can feel the vibrations of Tony talking to him, the soft breath of air next to his head and his partners touch on his back, the kisses on his hair. Breathing is hard, he is shaking and it's only when he feels the growing wet spot under his face that Clint realizes he must be sobbing.

Even knowing that Tony would never judge him for it, and certainly never push him away, he's ashamed. But he just can't stop, and he's so grateful for the support, it's all he can do to cling on, wait for the storm to pass.

Eventually, he's too exhausted to keep crying, and falls back into his restless sleep.

 

 

It's not bad dreams that wake him up in the morning, it's the sun shining through the blends. Blissfully ordinary, peaceful even, and it just feels wrong.

Clint has no idea what time it is, but it's probably later than usual when he wakes up. He doesn't feel rested at all, but he stretches a bit and then sits up to reach his hearing aids on the bedside table. The movement either wakes Tony, or he had just been dozing. Either way, he waits patiently for him, slowly stroking his side while he waits for him to lie back down, and tangles their limbs when he does.

The engineers quit murmur of “Good morning.” is met with a hum, and strong arms snaking around his torso, and it tells him enough about what kind of day this is probably going to become. He doesn't know details about his partners last mission, but the previous night gave him a good idea about how it might have went.

Knowing that too much talking won't help right now, he settles for hugging back and pushing his nose in the blond mop of hair resting on his shoulder.

“It's good to have you back home. Love you.”

The words are quietly enough for Clint to ignore if he wishes too, but he tightens his hold in response. A few minutes go by without either of them saying a word, and they just breathe each others company in silence.

“I'm sorry for last night.” Clint says, and his voice sounds rough.

“Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's okay.” 'Do you want to talk?' he doesn't say because he knows that this question might make the other man shut down again. Instead, he just settles for small touches and waiting for him to start talking on his own terms.

The chances that he wants to seem to be good, otherwise he wouldn't have broken the silence, or he wouldn't have mentioned anything at all.

 

“That mission was a fuckup from start to finish. We lost two agents. The civilians we were supposed to get out... They killed them all. Even the kids, they just... Fuck. They hurt them and sold them for years, and then they just murdered them as soon as our team showed up.”

Clint's narrative is chopped, and he sounds utterly defeated when he tells Tony about it, whatever isn't classified. When he's finished, his vision is blurry again, and all he want's to do is go back to sleep, except there are the nightmares waiting.

“I'm sorry.” It's all Tony knows to say, because he has no right words, and he's afraid of fucking up and making this worse when he might say the wrong thing. He tightens his hold, and keeps running one of his hands through the messy hair, just the way he knows Clint likes and helps him relax a little bit.

 

He worries about him.

 

Clint has a tendency to stay cool and rational in the field, and ignoring anything that doesn't put anybody in immediate danger, dealing with the emotional outcome when all is said and done, when he's back home, and, most of the time, alone.

Until a few years ago, he'd had Natasha and Phil to keep him company and wade through the same muddy waters. But Phil died on the Helicarrier with Loki's spear in his chest back then when everything changed, and Natasha has been on a long term OP for the past several weeks, and no idea when she will be back. Radio Silence. It happens with their jobs, even when they go out with the Avengers whenever they're available and live with them for most of the time.

But their lives changed, and for the better.

Neither of them has ever had so many people to love and call family as they do now.

 

Clint turns his head a little bit, and presses as kiss to Tony's jaw, pulling him a bit closer for a moment.

“I love you.” he hopes that those three words can carry everything that he means. Judging by the smile and press of lips he gets in return, they do.

 

The day is slow, and thankfully neither of them needs to be anywhere. It's Friday, and they shoveled a few days off to spend more time together, because Tony needs to leave for meetings in California soon, and Clint for his last OP.

Tony manages to get Clint out of bed, into the bathroom and some comfortable clothes, and then in the kitchen for a light breakfast. Clint is not hungry at all. He never is when he's feeling sad like this, but he finishes a smoothie, because Tony asks him to, and he drinks water because he's definitely dehydrated.

Apart form that, he's not up for much, so they curl up on the couch and ask JARVIS to play some BBC Earth documentaries. Clint doesn't pay too much attention to the details, but it's calm and doesn't startle him with sudden noises or movements.

 

The following night, he barely sleeps again.

The nightmares leave him shaking violently, and the next morning he says, “I just can't. I need to do something productive.”

So they pack some things, get a hold of Thor and Steve, who are happy to join them, and head to the Jet to make their way to the Iowa Farm.

 

 

With Natasha on Assignment, and with Bruce gone for a Science conference, it's just the four of them. The plan for the day is to remove the wall that's separating the living room from the tiny kitchen. Since the house is small, and cramped enough as it is, they hope to make it a bit more open and friendly.

 

It's saying something, that even with a Supersoldier and a literal God present, it's neither of them, but Clint who goes hardest on the wall. He's holding a sledgehammer, and letting it crush down on the crumbling wall. The archer doesn't talk, his mind occupied and running a steady stream of pictures and memories while he is working. He's wired and exhausted at the same time, and everything gets mixed around.

 

_The warehouse, gunfire and blood, and rooms full of dead people._

_Fire, screaming and running for his life._

_His father, half empty bottle in one hand, and the other raised to a fist, drunken rage on his face._

_Barney, taking his hand and climbing out of the window at night, and running, running, running._

_Icy water around him, filling his lungs in the darkness._

_Blue light, and a smooth, silvery voice whispering inside his head._

 

Clint is hitting the wall harder and harder, trying to get rid of his thoughts, but they're racing and his breathing gets hard and shallow. The hammer comes crashing down again, and another piece of wall is crumbling away.

 

_Loud, muffled voices, and high pitched sobbing from the floor where his Mom is cowering._

_A dark, wet room and five Agents tied up on the floor. It smells like blood, urine and shit._

_Barney's face looming over him, a disgusted sneer on his lips._

_Barney standing by and watching him get beat up, not reacting for his brothers calls at all._

_Natasha gripping his hand hard enough to hurt. Her hushed voice in his ear, “I'm sorry” and “Phil is dead.” and “This is not your fault, Clint.” and she never let's go, staying close to his side._

_Big hands holding him down, one clasped over his mouth and other hands wandering everywhere, and he want's to throw up._

 

In a matter of seconds, Clint lets the tool clatter to the floor, where it leaves an indent from the weight of the heavy fall, and then he's almost out the front door. Someone is calling his name, but he just shakes his head. The message is clear. 'No, don't come after me.'

Clint doesn't go far, just a few steps into the back yard, until he almost collapses onto a pile of wood. He's sitting there, head between his knees and trying to calm down. Everything in his brain is mixed up, and he doesn't know which way is up in his panic. Only faintly, he realizes that there are tears dripping onto the floor in front of him, and doesn't care.

Part of him wants to stay out here alone. Another, smaller part wants someone to ignore his request and follow anyway, but he knows he probably wouldn't react well to it right now.

Tony knows this, and so do Thor and Steve. So they wait back inside, and probably worry.

 

Usually, Clint is good with affection, both in giving and receiving it. But there are moments, entire days even, when he goes quiet and doesn't want to be touched at all. Sometimes, even the presence of other people is too much to bear, and he hides away. Those are the days that hurt the most.

He's spent so much of his life being alone, having no one to trust or give a shit about him. But since, SHIELD, since Phil and Nat, and Tony and the Avengers, he knows what it feels like to have a family. What it's like to love someone and be loved back. He's gotten used to it, wanting this and needing it.

'You're weak, depending on other People. You don't deserve any of it!” a small, angry part of his brain is snarling at him. This part always get's louder on the bad days.

 

It takes a while, but eventually, his racing heart and shaky breathing evens out again. Clint stays seated on the wood, and wonders briefly, if it was a mistake to come back to Iowa, at this time. Normally, he is confident in the plan of making the house he grew up in a nicer and comfortable safe house. Back in New York he wanted to go, hoping to find a distraction, but apparently it backfired on him. This place is still full of old, unpleasant memories. Maybe fighting them now, when he's got other things haunting him is not the best move. But coming here meant to be productive, to _do_ something... At least they got a bit of work done.

 

When Clint returns back inside, the mess of the broken wall is cleared in a container, and the house smells like coffee. He doesn't say much, but apologizes for making them come here and wasting everyone's time.

“You don't need to apologize for any of this” is the firm and consistent answer, and Clint is too tired to fight it.

That night, no one goes to sleep. They occupy the living room floor with blankets, pillows and mugs of hot drinks, and a never ending stream of chatter.

He is leaning into Tony, who still looks at him with concern in his dark brown eyes, and always keeps physical contact with him. On his other side, Thor's gigantic forearm rests against his leg, a subtle offer of comfort from his friend. Steve sits across from him, also keeping some form of physical contact, but tries to lighten the mood with stories from his time with the howling commandos.

Clint is not sure just how much their Captain knows about his last mission and the days that followed, or Thor for that matter. But they're still here, because they'll never say “no” to helping a friend.

 

Shortly after midnight, the vibrations of his phone shake the floor beneath him, and while he can feel his partners gentle fingers scratching the nape of his neck, he realizes with a small, but honest smile that he got a text from Natasha.

 

It's a seemingly random string of emojis, followed by a winky face, and

“ _Did you know that a snail can sleep for three years?”_

Clint stares for a moment. The phone vibrates again.

“ _Also, did you know that 2/3 of a cat's life are spent asleep?”_

Despite everything, Clint smiles a little bit wider

“ _Is that what you're planning to do?”_

“ _Maybe not **that** long. But the general sentiment stays the same.”_

“ _Fair enough. You OK?”_

“ _I'm good. On my way back, should be home in a day or so.”_

He types out a reply.

“ _Good, we've missed you. In Iowa rn, last mission was a huge fuckup.”_

Natasha's response comes in a matter of seconds.

“ _Are you okay?”_

“ _No, not right now. But I will be.”_

“ _OK. Do you need me to come there?”_

“ _No, it's okay. We'll probably leave tomorrow anyway, so I guess I'll see you then.”_

“ _I'll be home soon”_ she's repeating that to empathize her point. He is, once again, very grateful to have her as his best friend.

“ _Love you, Tasha.”_

“ _I love you, too. Try to get some sleep, and tell the boys I said hi.”_

 

The way might be hard, and filled with stones. But at least he won't have to move them away on his own.

 

He's home the next afternoon, and Clint is sort of stuck in the middle of a puppy pile on the couch in the common area. Moving is almost impossible – he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Natasha arrives on the same day, and shuffles out of the elevator in her SHIELD uniform, hair a mess, duffel bag in one hand and the other arm slung around a very rumpled but happy looking Bruce, who's carrying a small suit case. Both of them greet the room in general, then drop the luggage where they stand and flop down on the couch. Various other Avengers and the Pizza dog are already sprawled out. They rearrange bodies and limbs for a bit, and soon, very soon, they drift off into sleep.

 

It's the first real rest Clint has in days, and he actually manages fall asleep for a few hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
